The London Crimes

CHAPTER VI. THE LAW LEARNS FACTS

“IT’S a jolly deep tangle, Mr. Cranston. If you can produce a clue for us, we shall appreciate it.”

Eric Delka made the statement. He and The Shadow were holding a morning conference with Chief Constable Lewsham, in the latter’s office at Scotland Yard.

The Shadow, still guised as Lamont Cranston, was seated opposite Lewsham, in the very chair which he had occupied when playing the role of Phineas Twambley. Neither Delka nor Lewsham, however, suspected his double identity.

“Regarding my mining stock.” The Shadow, rising, paced slowly across the office. “I purchased it from this chap Wadkins, whoever he was. The stock is bona fide. Wadkins, therefore, may be honest.”

“Unless he was part of the game,” objected Lewsham, promptly. “Wadkins may have been in league with The Harvester.”

“Which is why we are still looking for him,” added Delka. “Unfortunately, we have found no traces of the fellow, despite your description of him.”

The Shadow nodded, as though convinced of a new possibility by the arguments of the Scotland Yard men. He paused by the wide window, where heavy side curtains framed a view of the Houses of Parliament, beside the Thames.

“Darryat spoke of Wadkins,” mused The Shadow. He had avoided all mention of the supposed solicitor, Dobbingsworth. “I doubt, though, that he could have been the rogue who showed himself at my doorway. The one you call The Harvester.”

“I agree on that,” asserted Delka. “The Harvester is the specialist who puts the finishing touches on every game. He was willing even to sacrifice his right-hand man, Darryat.”

“Alias Bildon, alias Dabley,” remarked Lewsham, referring to a record. “Also alias Darryat. Our finger-print records show him to be Louis Markin, once incarcerated in Dartmoor Prison. We supposed that Markin had left the country.”

“Being dead,” stated Delka, “the chap afforded us no new clue. Nor do those thugs who were covering the apartment house last night. They are like the cutthroats who attacked me on the up train from Plymouth. Mere ruffians who serve The Harvester.”

Big Ben began to boom the hour of nine. As the strokes came from the great clock near the river, Lewsham and Delka both glanced methodically at their watches. That routine performed, the chief constable picked up a copy of a tabloid newspaper that was lying upon his desk.

“We have issued a complete statement,” said Lewsham. “With full particulars and a photograph of Markin, with his aliases. The picture was snapped when the body reached the morgue. The one way to offset The Harvester is to give notoriety to his doings. He may have various irons in the fire.”

“Any new intelligence may aid us. We came closer to The Harvester when we learned that he had been seen near the Moravia Apartments. That is why we came there to aid you, Mr. Cranston. By the way, Delka” — Lewsham turned to the investigator — “you have not seen Twambley since yesterday?”

“I did not see him yesterday,” returned Delka. “He called me by the telephone, sir. Twambley has left the Savoy. According to the word he left there, he intends to tour the continent.”

“A good place for him to be,” nodded Lewsham. “Since he provided information against The Harvester, it is wise that he should leave England. Yet this is a wretched business! Wretched, indeed, when I am forced to admit that a man is safer out of London! Nevertheless, it is true. Frankly, we are balked, unless—”

THERE was a knock at the door. Interrupted, Lewsham called to enter. A uniformed constable appeared. The man had an urgent message.

“Two persons to see you, sir,” he stated. “Sir Ernest Jennup and Mr. Justin Craybaw.”

“Show them in at once!”

All eyes were upon the elder of the two men who entered. This was the true Sir Ernest Jennup. His manner — his carriage — most of all, the appearance of his face were proof that The Harvester’s impersonation had by no means been a perfect one. The real Sir Ernest, with his well-trimmed Vandyke, was much more distinguished in appearance than the impostor had been.

The man with Sir Ernest was also possessed of dignity. Justin Craybaw was tall, broad-shouldered and robust of appearance. He was a man not over forty; his face, though tight-skinned, was healthy in its ruddiness. He was clean-shaven with short-clipped black hair, his temples tinged an iron-gray.

Sir Ernest was the first to speak. In precise tones, he took up the matter of The Harvester’s most recent exploit. Indignantly, he denounced the impostor.

“I had not visited the Moravia Apartments for weeks,” declared Sir Ernest. “Hence I can scarcely accuse the doorkeeper of negligence in believing the impostor to be myself. The hallway at the Moravia is a gloomy one.

“But to think that the scoundrel would have the cheek to impersonate me! Bah! It is outrageous! Last night I was traveling southward from Glasgow, a passenger in a first-class sleeping carriage. Imagine my amazement when I arrived at King’s Cross at half past seven this very morning!”

Reaching to the desk, Sir Ernest picked up the tabloid newspaper and spread its pages.

“Fancy it!” he exclaimed. “This sensational sheet flaunted before my nose, with hawkers shouting out my name for the entire depot to hear! I, the victim of a hoax of which I knew nothing! Shocking scandal!”

“My apologies, Sir Ernest,” interposed Lewsham, soothingly. “It was not to our liking. Our duty, however, is to further the purposes of the law when—”

“With which I quite agree,” broke in Sir Ernest, emphatically, “and for that reason I have no quarrel. Instead, I have come here to congratulate you upon your course. I can overlook the temporary embarrassment which was thrust upon me. You have served the law well.”

THERE was significance in Sir Ernest’s tone. Keen interest gripped the listeners. Smiling pleasantly because of the surprise which he had created, Sir Ernest leaned back in his chair and waved his hand toward Craybaw.

“Proceed with the details, Justin,” he suggested. “Unless you wish a further introduction.”

“Such would be wise, Sir Ernest,” inserted Craybaw.

“Very well.” Sir Ernest nodded. “Mr. Craybaw is the managing director of Rudlow, Limited, a financial concern that is connected with my banking houses. This morning, he called me by telephone, directly after I had reached my Lombard Street office. When I heard the information that he has to offer, I suggested that he accompany me here at once.”

“Information about The Harvester?” queried Lewsham, turning quickly to Craybaw. “Or about his lieutenant Markin?”

“Concerning the latter,” replied Craybaw, “under his alias of Captain Darryat.”

“You had met Darryat?”

Craybaw shook his head.

“No,” he replied, “but I had heard of the fellow; and his ways struck me as suspicious. Suppose I give you a brief sketch of the circumstances.”

“Proceed.”

“Not more than two months ago,” recalled Craybaw, “Rudlow, Limited, was approached by a gentleman named Lionel Selbrock, recently returned from Mesopotamia. Selbrock — whose credentials appeared to be of the highest — made claim that he was the holder of oil options valued at a quarter million in pounds sterling.

“It was his desire that Rudlow, Limited, should undertake the disposal of those options, at the price quoted. Selbrock, in turn, insisted that he would be satisfied to receive two hundred thousand pounds as his payment. This offered an excellent profit, fifty thousand pounds to be exact, for Rudlow, Limited.

“The directors conferred upon the matter and resolved to undertake the sale. An agreement was drawn up with Selbrock. The next process was to discover a suitable buyer.”

Craybaw paused. He formed another mental calculation; then resumed:

“Less than a fortnight since — twelve days ago, as I recall it— Lionel Selbrock was approached directly by a man who offered to dispose of his options. That man named a potential buyer: namely, the Rajah of Delapore.”

“He is here in London,” put in Lewsham, with a nod. “Prepared to sell a large number of valuable jewels. One of my men talked with his secretary, to make sure that the wealth was properly protected.”

“Exactly,” stated Craybaw. “The rajah’s purchase of the oil options was to be contingent upon his sale of the jewels, a point which has apparently been already arranged. But what is most important is the identity of the man who called upon Selbrock to arrange the transaction.”

“Was it Darryat?”

“It was. He tried to induce Selbrock to visit the Rajah of Delapore and come to immediate terms. Selbrock refused to do so.”

“On account of his agreement with Rudlow, Limited?”

“That was the reason. Selbrock came directly to us, as an honest man should have done. His suggestion was that we negotiate with the rajah.”

“Eliminating the so-called Captain Darryat?”

“Entirely. Selbrock reasoned that Darryat was entitled to no consideration, because he had attempted to produce an illegal transaction. A point, however, with which I could not agree.”

“So you did not contact the rajah?”

“On the contrary, we did.” Craybaw’s tone was serious. “Our position was a rather unique one. Since we had agreed to sell Selbrock’s options, we could hardly refuse to negotiate with a purchaser whom he suggested. Had Darryat come to us, we would naturally have been forced to consider him; but he had dealt only with Selbrock. Darryat’s interests, therefore, were entirely beyond our jurisdiction.”

“QUITE so,” put in Sir Ernest Jennup. “The course was decided upon by the board of directors at Rudlow, Limited. Against the advice of Mr. Craybaw.”

“Not precisely,” corrected Craybaw. “I advised that Darryat be consulted, since his name had been drawn into the transaction; for that appeared to me to be the clearer course. The board of directors voted that we first open negotiations with the rajah.”

“And you did so?” queried Lewsham.

“Yes,” replied Craybaw. “I interviewed the rajah in my office, along with Selbrock and the board of directors. He declared that he had not authorized Captain Darryat to act as his representative. He stated that he knew very little about the fellow. Since Selbrock held to the same opinion, we decided to undertake the complete transaction.

“As it now stands, we are awaiting the rajah’s disposal of his jewels. When he assures us that such negotiation has been completed, we shall purchase Selbrock’s options at the price of two hundred thousand pounds. We shall then dispose of them to the Rajah of Delapore for two hundred and fifty thousand.”

Lewsham had risen to his feet.

“Can this transaction be postponed?” he queried. “Without jeopardizing the interests of Rudlow, Limited?”

“My present belief,” replied Craybaw, “is that it should by all means be postponed, until Scotland Yard has had time to fully investigate the possible influence of Captain Darryat.”

“A decision with which I fully agree,” nodded Sir Ernest. “That is why we have come here so promptly. Furthermore, as a principal stockholder in Rudlow; Limited, I believe that the entire transaction should be supervised by the authorities.”

“With reports upon Selbrock,” added Craybaw, “and also upon the Rajah of Delapore. For that matter, we shall also insist that you examine the status of Rudlow, Limited.”

Sidney Lewsham smiled.

“Very well;” he agreed. “We shall commence at once. I shall appoint you, Delka, to the task, with as many competent assistants as you may require.”

Handshakes were exchanged. Sir Ernest Jennup departed, accompanied by Justin Craybaw. As soon as the visitors were gone, Lewsham turned to Delka and The Shadow.

“THE fine hand of The Harvester has been at work,” declared the chief constable. “Here we have a perfectly legitimate transaction, needing only a move to bring seller and purchaser together. Somehow, The Harvester learned of it. He used Darryat to arrange a short-cut, eliminating the natural intermediary: Rudlow, Limited. Fortunately, the game was stopped.”

“It was ‘spiked,’ as they say in the States,” chuckled Delka. “That is why Darryat was sent on a lesser game. Maybe The Harvester has given up hope of getting his fists into either the oil options or the jewels.”

“Not The Harvester,” returned Lewsham, with a shake of his head. “He is somewhere in the offing. We have a new lead, also. The rogue must be keeping close watch upon developments in Lombard Street.”

“He has done so in the past.”

“Yes. Moreover, his impersonation of Sir Ernest shows that he has had contacts among bankers. I wonder” — Lewsham paused musingly — “I wonder if either Selbrock or the rajah ever met Sir Ernest.”

“I shall make inquiry of both, when I meet them,” stated Delka. “You can ask Sir Ernest, chief. Unless you prefer that I—”

“I shall ask him. Meanwhile, Delka, when you call on Selbrock and the Rajah of Delapore, I would suggest that you have Mr. Cranston accompany you. He can listen and ascertain if their description of the pretended Captain Darryat tallies with your own.”

Ten minutes later, Eric Delka left New Scotland Yard accompanied by The Shadow. As the two walked toward an underground station, Delka was delivering brief comments regarding their coming quest. The Shadow, however, was silent.

His thin lips, perfectly disguised, wore a slight, fixed smile that sometimes went with the personality of Lamont Cranston. For where Delka simply hoped for news of The Harvester, The Shadow was already positive that he would have a complete trail, before this work was finished.